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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT; 



Poems and Translations 



Poems and Translations 



By 



Frederic Rowland Marvin 




Pafraets Book Company 

Troy, New York 

1907 






l? e ? 



LIBRARY of CONuK^SS 
Two Copies KecesveO 

DEC 12 1907 

Cojsyngot tntry 

•7i/ v TLtr t<t*7 

CWSSr4 XXc, No, 
1 COPY B 



Copyright, 1907 

BY 
FREDERIC ROWLAND MARVIN 



To my Dear Wife 

In whose Pure Love and Noble Companionship 

I have found Gladness of Life 

And Inspiration for Labor 

I Dedicate this Book 



in 



PREFATORY NOTE 

In this little book the author has collected all 
of his poetical compositions which he desires to 
have preserved. These verses represent no great 
ambition, and would never have been brought 
together " between covers " had not other books 
from the same pen been received by the reading 
world with a kindness and appreciation much 
beyond the expectation of the author. It may 
be some will miss a poem or two long years ago 
cut from a magazine and transferred to a scrap- 
book, or otherwise preserved; some may find 
here and there a verse they would have omitted; 
more may not greatly interest themselves in the 
matter one way or the other, reading the book, 
if they read it at all, to fill an idle hour or gratify 
a passing curiosity. No author can please all 
readers, or satisfy the demands of every critic; 
but it is with a sincere hope that these verses 
may be of service to his fellow men and a source 
of pleasure to many readers, that the author 
launches his book, and sends it forth upon its 
lonely voyage to shores of which neither author 
nor readers can have much knowledge. 

F. R. M. 



Go, little book, 

And be to other men 

What thou hast been to me — 

Communion, fellowship, and hope! 

Say to other men: 

"In these brief lines 

A living man zvas housed, 

And here he breathed desire and faith; 

Not such as schools and chapels teach, 

But such as God approves/' 

Go, little book, 

And rest your heart 

Against some heart to me unknown, 

And cry: "Hail brother! evermore to you 

Glad fellowship, and kindly love, 

And pleasant journey home! 



CONTENTS 



Poems 



Marcus Aurelius and Epictetus 






3 


" Songs of Innocence " 




4 


The Soul 








5 


The Immortal Gods 








7 


Ether 








8 


The Downward Gaze . 








9 


The Lion of Lucerne . 








IO 


My Earthly Love 








ii 


" Thou Knowest " 








13 


The Hospital Nurse . 








14 


To a Bird . 








17 


The Open Door . 








19 


How to Remain Young 








20 


Burial Hill 








21 


The Secret of the Stars 








23 


Infinite Presence 








25 


Fate .... 








26 


Brahma's Cup 








27 


Isis .... 








28 


Cleopatra' s Mummy 








29 


Love .... 








32 


Love's Metempsychosis 








33 


The Test of Love 








35 


Wild Rose . 








36 


Lilies for Rosalie 








37 


Kindness 








38 



IX 



x Contents 






PAGE 


The Vivisector ...... 39 


Dust to Dust 


. 




• 43 


Modern Spiritualism 


. 




• 44 


Materialism 


. . 




• 45 


Transcendentalism 


. . 




. 46 


The Safest Creed 






• 47 


Aspiration . 


. 




. 48 


Berkley Churchyard 


. 




• 49 


The Daisy . 


, . 




• 59 


The New Age 


, 




. 60 


A Modern Preacher . 






. 62 


Theological Experts 


. 




• 63 


Everlasting Trifles 


. 




• 65 


Vanity 






. 66 


On the Removal of the 


Remains c 


f Calderoj 


j 67 


Fichte's Grave 


. 




. 68 


Worship 






70 


Spinoza 


. 




7i 


God .... 


. 




72 


Fame .... 






73 


Be Still and Wait 


. 




74 


The Rule of Life 


. 




75 


Reverie 


. , 




76 


Only a Word 


, 




78 


To One about to Die . 






79 


" Use Well the Passing Hour " . 




80 


The Secret Knowledge 




82 


Virgilii Carmina 




84 


Follow the Light 




86 


At the Tomb of Senancour 




87 


The Imprisoned Soul . 




89 


" Sigh not a Vanished Past " 




90 


Hafiz ...... 




9i 


Somewhere 


. 




93 



Contents 


xi 




PAGE 


Thalia ...... 


• 94 


The Far Horizon .... 


• 95 


Prayer for Strength .... 


IOO 


Quiet Power ..... 


. IOI 


In Ara Cceli ..... 


102 


Trust ...... 


. 103 


Madonna ...... 


104 


Freedom ...... 


. 105 


Descent of the Spirit 


. 106 


The Real Christ .... 


. 107 


At the Lord's Table .... 


. 108 


Age ....... 


. 109 


"Watchman, What of the Night?" . 


in 


" Could We but Trust His Constant Care " 


. 112 


The Poet to the Youth 


• i J 3 


One ....... 


. 114 


•The Evening of the Lord's Day . 


115 


Comradeship ..... 


116 


Truth ...... 


117 


After a Fruitless Argument 


118 


Common Sense ..... 


119 


I Remember ...... 


120 


The Golden Hour . 


122 


Tragedy ....... 


123 


The Death Penalty . 


124 


The Hero ....... 


125 


Lines ........ 


127 


Forgiveness ...... 


129 


Quatrains: 




Here and Now . 


130 


Passion ....... 


130 


The Uselessness of Wrangling . 


130 


A Selfish Heart 


130 


Friendship ...... 


131 



XI 1 



Contents 









PAGE 


Choice ....... 131 


Youth and Age 






131 


Life .... 






131 


Church and State 






131 


The Inner Worship . 






132 


" How do Cherries Taste? " 






132 


Why? 






132 


AUF WlEDERSEHEN 






133 


Translations. 









The Song of the Spirit over the Waters, 

Goethe 137 

The Boundaries of Humanity, Goethe . 139 

The Mason's Lodge, Goethe . . . .141 

To the Husbandman, Goethe . . . 143 

The Eagle and the Dove, Goethe . . 144 

Humanity, Kinkel ..... 147 

Lily and Rose, Herder ..... 149 

The Palm, Heine . . . . .150 

Faith, Victor Hugo . . . . 151 

The Whistling Daughter, From the Dutch . 152 
Song of the Wandering Knight, From the 

Spanish . . . . . • : 53 

On Michael Angelo's Statue of Night, 

Italian . . . . . . 154 

Christmas Carol, From the Italian . 155 

To a False Lady, From the Italian . .156 

Under a Winged Cupid, Greek Anthology . 157 
The Prayer of a Persian . . . .158 

Renunciation, From the Sanscrit . . 159 

The House of God, From the Persian . . 160 

The Choice of Friends, Saadi . . . 161 



Contents xiii 

PAGE 

Immortal Youth, Khushhal Khan of the Afghan 

Tribe of Khattok . . . . .162 

A Mother's Lament for her Drowned Son, 

From the Greenlandic .... 163 



POEMS 



MARCUS AURELIUS AND EPICTETUS 

TWIN stars, serene and pure, 
In the fear-haunted gloom 
Of the wild pagan night, — 
So long, so long ago ! 
In royal purple one, 
Philosopher and saint, 
With words divinely wise; 
The other but a slave, 
Yet monarch still who ruled 
The godlike minds of men. 
Alone, undimmed, they burned 
Above a world of doom, 
Until the morning-red 
Flamed crimson in the east, 
And the ascending dawn 
Of an immortal Christ 
Filled the blue heavens with lierht. 



" SONGS OF INNOCENCE " 

WILD flowers by the hedge-row, 
Clover, and daisy, and spurge; 
Buttercups, golden, aglow, 
With hearts full of sunlight and cheer; 
The oak, the elm, and the maple, 
The tangle of forest and brake; 
The song of the brook in the meadow; 
And the silver repose of the lake; 
The lowing of kine on the lea; 
The twitter of birds, and the ceaseless 
Sweet hum of the bee; 
The heat of summer at noon-day; 
And the cool refreshment of rain, 
As showers descend on the woodland, 
The grass, and the heavy ripe grain. 

Ah Blake, in thy pages forever 

The sun and the storm have their home. 

Nature is one with thy singing, 

The flowers in thy verses are springing, 

And harvest and winter are thine. 

But the joy of thy rhyme and thy measure, 

And the song of thy soul, they are mine. 



THE SOUL 

Kai av9p(i)TZou ye 4' u X*ii £ ^ 7:£ P Tt & ai &kko tojv dv&pa)7:iv(oi/ y 
rob deiou fieTtyec. — Xenophon. 

THE Soul is its own destiny: 
Fate is the Soul in motion: 
It hath nor bound of space nor time; 
It is the Infinite. 

Duration that doth mock all measurement 
Becometh conscious — is the everlasting Soul. 
Time is a cunning fancy; 
The immortal gods 

Have wrought the subtle fabric of the hours, 
To blind the Soul that looketh out 
On its immensity. 
But all in vain: 

The introverted vision gazes on infinity; 
Alone, supreme, the Soul forever dwells. 
Empires have birth, they do decay and die; 
Advancing years, like phantoms, 
Sweep forever down the abyss of time 
And slumber on the bosom of Forgetfulness. 
Forever falls the sand, the glass is never empty, 
Fed from the running fingers of Eternity. 

5 



6 The Soul 

The sands are ages: 
Forever weep the Klepsydrse; 
Their tears the universal grief express, 
And drop into the bosom of Eternity. 
But what are empires and the endless years 
Unto the Soul that holdeth all! 
Behold the infinite, far-shining, everlasting Soul- 
Behold the Human Soul! 



THE IMMORTAL GODS 

THE gods can't die, poor fellows, 
Endless lives are theirs; 
On clouds they loll forever, 

And hearken to our prayers. 
They shake the heavens with thunder, 

With lighting part the sky, 
And curse the fate that made them, 
And will not let them die. 

The earth is green and tender, 

The ocean cool and deep; 
'Neath foamy waves and waves of grass 

We lay us down to sleep. 
The gods pursue with anger, 

From cloud to cloud they leap, 
But they can never find us 

When we are gone to sleep. 



ETHER 

PURE air the soul demands, 
And cloudless light: 
Who to himself can say- 
Bravely, "Thou must!" 
Austere compulsion turns 
To sweet delight; 
He breathes the mountain-air 
Of duty loved, 
Nobly obeyed. 
O'er all the crystal sphere, 
Radiant above him springs 
From the rude earth below, 
Heaven's dome of blue. 



THE DOWNWARD GAZE 

BEHOLD the earth, if thou wouldst see 
The smile creative of the Lord; 
And, speechless, hearken to her voice, 
If thou wouldst hear the heavenly word. 

The downward gaze is upward still, 
The inward silence sacred song: 

The heart that waits in love for God 
Shall know He never tarries long. 



THE LION OF LUCERNE 

WITH equal courage soldier and commander 
fell; 
Why were not all recorded name by name? 
The stone was ample, and the artist's skill was 
there, 
To give them, great and small, to deathless fame. 

Alas, how meagre is the gratitude we yield 
To humble men who royal service give! 

We little care that silent worth unhonored die, 
If rank and title, crowned with glory, live. 



MY EARTHLY LOVE 

NO dim and dreamy ghost I sing, 
Nor phantom floating in the air; 
To one who treads the solid earth, 

I send alike my song and prayer. 
To perfect matter strong and sweet, 

The face and form of her I love; 
The matchless speech and subtile breath, 

And eyelid trembling like a dove, — 
A dove within an earthly nest, 

Who hears the coming of her mate, 
Or feels his kiss upon her breast, 

And chides him that he comes so late. 

The matchless joy of sense I sing! — 

The earthly joy of here and now: 
Before no fading ghost I kneel — 

Before no distant future bow. 
Go, little song, and seek the lips 

Of her who waits thee with a kiss; 
And tell her, only in her arms 

Thy poet-master dreams of bliss. 
No angel seen by prophet eye, 

Nor shaped by art with peerless grace, 



12 My Earthly Love 

With feet that tread the azure sky, 

And roam the boundless field of space, 

Is half so true or sweetly fair 

As one who walks with me apart: 

I lose me in her shining hair, — 
She is the goddess of my heart. 

O Death, so like a stormy cloud 

Within a gentle summer sky, 
Thou lonely phantom sad to see, 

I will not fear thee though I die! 
Go, little song, to her I love, 

And tell her Death is in the air; 
It is his shadow on the world 

That makes the present moment fair. 
We have one hour of life and love, 

And ages filled with silent sleep — 
There is no time for Faith to pray, 

Nor time for sullen Grief to weep. 
Go, tell her if we love not now, 

The life we live is only death 
And dust that have no joy in time, 

And only feed on bitter breath. 



"THOU KNOWEST" 

NEATH Montparnasse's sacred shade I stand 
And greet whom I have known before, 
But not, as in the days of yore, 
With song and laughter and the voice of praise. 
Alas, the bounding pulse and flashing eyes, 
And motion eloquent of swift surprise, 
Are dust beneath the flowers to-day! 
I turn to read — the name and little else! 
What could the lifeless marble say 
For one who cast herself away? 
" Thou knowest." 



13 



THE HOSPITAL NURSE 

HOW shall I know when I am dead? " 
The fever-stricken patient cried : 
Whispered the nurse: "I cannot say, 
For I have neither lived nor died. 

" How can I live and nurse the dead? 

How die, and with the living go? 
So long I've wrought a single task, 

I nothing else can think or know. 

" From ward to ward I glide and glide, 
And breathe the ether-tainted air; 

My heart is dull, mine ears are filled 

With sob, and curse, and wildered prayer. 

" The surgeon's knife is keen and true, 
The doctor's drugs are bitter quite; 

And round and round forever swing, 
In equal darkness, day and night. 

" Ah me ! that God should make this world, 
If any God in heaven there be ; 

Can He not feel His creatures' woe? 
Is He so blind He cannot see? 
14 



The Hospital Nurse 15 

" Last night a wounded man they brought, 
The mangled flesh they cut away; 

He scarcely breathed, his failing pulse 
Ceased, and he died with opening day. 

" Long by his lifeless form I stood, 
I saw them lift the helpless clay; 

The same old duties called me then, — 

Some wound to dress, some throat to spray. 

" Let say who will that God is good ; — 

I doubt there is a God at all; 
But if there be in heaven or hell, 

He cannot hear us when we call. 

" I come and go, and do my work, 

With kindly thought, and kindly deed; 

One word alone, 't is only Help, 

Makes all the substance of my creed. 

" But it is earthly Help, and lo, 

It falls not from the heavens above; 

It dwells within the human heart, 
And all its blessed name is Love. 

" I have been down to hear them pray, 
Within the chapel on the street; 

All through the service rich and strong, 
I seemed to hear the word Defeat. 



16 The Hospital Nurse 

"A silken robe the preacher wore, 
His alb and chasuble were fine; 

And in his face there was a look 
Of dainty meat, and costly wine. 

" He was no bishop, yet he had 

The pride and pomp that bishops wear; 

Smug satisfaction oiled his throat, 
But lifted not my load of care. 

" And as I left the House of Creed, 
A beggar hobbled by the door; 

In him I saw the groaning world, 
And I could never worship more. 

" I have one duty, only one, 

To serve with heart, and hand, and brain 
The race He loved who meekly bore 

A Golgotha of shame and pain. 

" Dear Christ, whom earthly priests deride, 
And gilded churches mock with prayer, 

My human heart looks up to Thee, 
And longs Thy blessed work to share. 

" And if there be no God above, 

Nor any God on land or sea, 
I am content to call Thee Lord, 

And for Thy love to worship Thee." 



TO A BIRD 

BIRD upon the leafy tree-top, 
'Mid the bending buds of Spring 1 , 
With the golden sunlight painted 
Strangely on thy folded wing, 

With the blue of heaven entwined 
Round thy soft and slender throat, 

Trembling like a thing affrighted, 
With each sweet and gentle note — 

Bird of beauty, free and happy, 
Singing all the glad day long, 

Is there aught of wrong or sorrow 
In thy world of flowers and song? 

Are there dreams of years departed, 
Hopes that come not back again ; — 

Are there loves that fade and darken — 
Joys that vanish into pain? 

Tel) me if the same sweet music 
Makes thee happy all thy way, 
17 



1 8 To a Bird 

If no night of pain or sorrow- 
Mar the blessedness of day. 



Not a word to me thou speakest 
Though I patient wait, and long; 

Still with trembling throat thou singest. 
While I listen to the song. 



THE OPEN DOOR 

SEE, little bird, 
I open wide 
The door for thee; 

Thou mayest glide 
On waving wing, 

And gladly sing, 
And everywhere 
In the sweet air 
Of freedom dwell. 

I too, little bird, 

Would scape my cage; 
Would fly abroad 

E'er frosty age 
Hath chilled my breath, 
And dimmed mine eye; 
And nought but death, 

In field and sky, 
Awaits my song 



19 



HOW TO REMAIN YOUNG 

STRIVE always to be calm; be cheerful and 
sleep well; 
Delight in music ; much with little children dwell ; 
With moderation eat; salute the opening day 
With glad " Good morning! " be it rosy dawn or 

gray; 
Thy burdens bravely bear, yet make thou no delay 
To help a feeble brother all the rugged way; 
Think not too much of self; nor idly fret and 

grieve 
That thou must all earth's wealth and beauty 

some day leave; 
Trust thou in God ; and in the holy footsteps tread 
Of those who live forever, though men count 

them dead. 
Wise as the serpent, and yet harmless as the 

dove — 
Be thou like Christ in heavenly patience and in 

love. 



20 



BURIAL HILL 

GONE with their beautiful faith, 
Their wonder, and vision divine, 
Are the men of our Puritan days, 
And the wives and mothers of old, — 
Each grave in New England's a shrine. 
The living still echo their praise, 
But hold not as of yore their belief; 
Strong were their sermons and prayers, 
And sweet were the hymns they sung; 
But the fathers are dust at our feet, 
The voice of their worship is still. 
I hear the glad carol of birds, 
And the song of the wind in the trees, 
As they heard them of old in this place; 
Yet not as they heard them I hear, 
For dead are the wonder and fear 
That made the forest resound 
With shout of battle and prayer. 
In the roar of the sea on the shore, 
The voice of Jehovah they heard; 
They beheld Him in dreams of the night, 
And they rose in the pride of their might, 

21 



22 Burial Hill 

And defied all the world in His name. 

Their faith was a rock of defense, 

Hard as the flint in their guns; 

Not loveless, but stern and austere 

As the righteous implacable fate 

They adored in the God whom they served. 

They are gone, and their faith is no more, — 

Its beauty, its wonder, its love, 

Its fear, its might, and despair; 

But we, their children, still hold, 

Not their creed, but their life in regard — 

We honor them still in our hearts. 

Here lived, and sorrowed, and loved, 

The men of those Puritan days; 

And here 'neath our feet they repose, 

Under violet, daisy, and vine, 

And the fragrant and trailing wild rose. 

Mingles their dust with the dust 

Of the hills and valleys they knew; 

But their spirits so brave and devout, 

Ah, who shall arise to declare, 

If the dream of their worship came true? 



THE SECRET OF THE STARS 

Wie das Gestim, 

Ohne Hast, 

Aber ohne Rast, 

Drehe sich jeder 

Um die eigne Last. — Goethe. 

AH well! If it were so 
That ever we might go, 
Starwise, in silent flight 
Through the encircling night, 
With neither haste nor rest, 
Whether in East or West, 
In North or South aflame; 
Having this single aim: 
Always the appointed task 
To perform, and not to ask 
Foreknowledge of our fate. 

Wie das Gestim — even so! 
Summers come and summers go, 
Fragrant flowers and drifting snow, 
Empires rise and empires fall; 
These can not disturb at all 
Draco's eighty flames of fire, 
23 



24 The Secret of the Stars 

Vega, and the golden Lyre. 
All the fret of our brief life, 
All the seeking and the strife, 
What we hate and what we choose, 
What we win and what we lose — 
These, how poor they all appear 
When we think of that high sphere 
Where the stars burn on for aye 
Through the vast expanse of sky, 
Without haste and without rest, 
Ever doing each its best, 
At its own appointed work. 

Soul of man, the stars above 
Speak to thee of our great love, 
Centred in no misty creed, 
But interpreted in deed. 
List! the secret now they tell: 
Do thy work, and do it well. 



INFINITE PRESENCE 

ALIKE Thou art in stillness and in storm; 
In gentle winds that woo the evening star, 
And welcome the descending gloom of night 
With song of forests and the sounding sea. 
Thou art in flower and shrub ; the running brook ; 
The restful silence of the purple hills; 
And in the lowly meadows where the kine 
Repose at noon beneath th' o'erhanging boughs 
Of oak and elm. Afar Thou art and near; — 
In distant worlds, and in th' trembling dew-drop, 
That on blushing rose doth hang a jewel 
Fit for Paradise above — too pure for earth. 
Thou art in ev'ry thought that stirs the soul 
Of saint or sage; in every noble deed; 
In woman's love; and in the voices dear 
Of little children, such as Jesus held 
In His pure arms, and pillowed on His breast. 
And this poor world is beautiful because, 
Though sin and shame have marred its grace, it 

knows 
The mighty Love that changes and transforms. 



25 



FATE 



CEASE your spinning, busy Fate; 
I am weary with the weight 
And the sorrow of my state ! 

Cut the silken thread in twain; 
Let the robe be made in vain 
That is woven from my pain. 

Let forgetfulness descend, 
Like the blessing of a friend, 
On the sorrow I would end. 

ii 

Bending low, she gently said: 
" Nor the living nor the dead 
Are divided from my thread. 

" Only take the pain I send, 
It shall teach thee like a friend, 
To be faithful to the end: 

" It shall teach thee to be strong, 
Patient under nameless wrong, 
Turning discord into song." 



26 



BRAHMA'S CUP 

I LI FT the cup of Brahma high! — 
The cup and liquor both are his; 
That flowing draught is perfect rest, 
For Brahma's self the liquor is. 

Let endless kalpas still revolve, 

Who quaffs, no grief shall e'er befall; 

For he shall dream the dream of God, 
And never know he dreams at all. 

My transmigrating days are o'er; 

God's hand presents the sacred cup; 
I eager grasp the chalice now, 

And drink the Godhead's liquor up. 

And while the sacred wine I quaff, 
Two souls are mingled on the brim; 

I drink of Brahma in the cup, 
And he receives me into him. 



27 



ISIS 

I am all that has been, all that is and shall ever be: no 
mortal has lifted the veil from my face. — Inscription upon 
the Temple at Sais. 

I WAS e'er ancient time began — 
The stars are young, but I am old; 
The circling ages come and go, 
And I the heaven and earth enfold. 

I am, and in my heart I clasp 

The priceless treasures of the sea; 

I spread the desert-sand abroad, 

And bade the sacred Nile-stream be. 

I shall abide when stars are gray, 

And age hath dimmed their wonted glow; 

No mortal lifts the veil I wear, 
And none my hidden glory know. 



28 



CLEOPATRA'S MUMMY 

British Museum, Case No. 6807. 

AHEAP of crumbling bones, 
Black with old Egypt's dust and grime; 
A bit of shrivelled skin; 
And painted cloth, 
Brittle from years, 
And with bitumen stained. 

Was it for these, ambitious Roman, 

Thou the lily of pure wedded love 

Didst scorn to wear, 

That so upon thy perjured heart 

Might blush the crimson passion-rose of sin? 

Draw near! Thy hand repose 

Upon these dark and pulseless breasts, 

Hard as the lava-stones, 

O'er which in triumph roll'd, 

All drenched in blood, 

Thy chariot wheels, 

Whilst shouting Jhosts 

Rent with loud acclaim, 

From sea to sea, 

The azure heavens ! 

29 



30 Cleopatra's Mummy 

Once were these crumbling bones 

Clothed in a woman's beauty, 

More fragrant than the breath of incense 

Burned where tinkling bells, 

And crystal fountains, 

Filled with gentle music 

The whispering groves of fair Dodona, 

And the pale-eyed priestess 

Breathed the hallowed air. 

Here rests the dark-eyed daughter of the Nile, 

Who nursed on golden bed, 

The sucking asp. 

Draw near, thou lover 

Whom the sweet-voiced poets laud ! 

Enfold with throbbing heart 

The proud lascivious queen 

Of all thy passion and desire, 

For whom thou didst despise 

The fair Octavia in her Roman home. 



Thou wilt not come ! 

The lonely shadows deepen, 

And from English sunset, 

Dull and gray as sea-blown mists, 

Dies the last flickering beam, 

And all at length is still. 

The visitors are gone : 

The doors are closed : 



Cleopatra's Mummy 31 

The daughter of great Ptolemy, 

In the London-town, 

Slumbers unconscious of her shame. 



Where are the Caesars, 
And proud Anthony of old? 
Their warring spirits earth defied, 
And Heaven. 

But now the meanest weed 
That on forsaken Actium's field 
Blooms for the dead, 
Need fear no rude alarm; 
The armed hosts are gone; 
Their conflicts all are ended, 
And the fury of their wrath 
Is stilled forever. 



Draw near — 

None shall thy right dispute! 

In yonder crystal case, 

She who was the passion and despair 

Of nobler hearts than oft have ruled the world, 

Dishonored lies — unloved ! 

Meanly labelled and described 

For vulgar eyes to scan, 

Her charms 

The vilest boor may view, 

And count himself 

More fair than she. 



T 



LOVE 

IME was when Love was bright and fair, 
Had soft blue eyes and golden hair. 



Time was when Love had all his way, 
And made this great world glad and gay. 

Time was! What change hath come to men? 
Is Love not strong and fair as then? 



32 



LOVE'S METEMPSYCHOSIS 

BRIEF space for tears and prayers 
To him who loves and dares 
The high gods send; 
But laughter-lighted days, 
Through all life's winding ways, 
Unto the end. 

I stand beside the sea, 
And salt winds cover me 

With spray. 
I know that I who stand 
Betwixt the sea and land 

All day, 

Shall be as yellow dust, 

Blown here and there — 

Heaven's winds shall carry me, 
I wist not where. 

But this one thing I know, 

Where'er my dust shall blow, 

The life of love will go. 
33 



34 Love's Metempsychosis 

And if some lily spread 
Its golden heart or red 

Unto the sun; 
And it should chance to be 
My love Eulalie, 
My dust, like living light 
Upon the wind's white wings, 
When through the grove she sings, 
The flower would find. 

Its silver stem would bend 
Until its shadow fell 
Above me like a bell 
That trembles for delight. 
The perfume of its breath 
Would lift me out of death, 
And lead me into life. 



THE TEST OF LOVE 

HIS lady fair a lover once reproved, 
For she had fondly kissed another swain; 
" I do deny," right stoutly she averred, 

" That he kissed me and I kissed him again; " 
"Not so? not so?" the lover cried, "I know 

Because I saw 't was not what I had heard." 

Hot was the lady's speech: "You love me not, 

Since you believe your eyes and not my word." 



35 



WILD ROSE 

DO I believe? O lovely rose, 
Outside the garden-close, 
Unplanted, wild and free! 
How could I doubt His skill, 
Whose love created thee? 
The fields are red with clover, 
And daisies star the lea, 
But not in all the meadow 
Is flower so dear to me. 
'T is in thy face forever, 
His heavenly face I see 
Who made the garden roses, 
And left my wild rose free. 
Do I believe? O fairest of all prairie-flowers. 
As winds believe in sea, 
As stars believe in midnight, 
So I believe in thee ! 



36 



LILIES FOR ROSALIE 

RAISE your heads, ye virgin lilies- 
Lilies white, so chaste and free! 
Bend no more with artless grace, 
Mirrored in the water's face — 
You shall live with Rosalie. 

Lift your stems of shining silver; 

Open wide your leaves to me; 
You shall live, and never fade, 
When you're with the fairest maid — 

On the breast of Rosalie. 

Lilies, hear you what I'm saying? 

Fadeless glories ye shall be; 
Careful, then, lest wavelets drift you; 
Stooping low, I gently lift you — 

You shall live with Rosalie. 



37 



KINDNESS 

WHOSE eye with melting pity flows, 
His life is like a summer rose ; 
But he whose ready hands are kind, 
A father's heart in God shall find; 
For better 't is to love than weep, 
And better far to work than sleep; 
For human kindness is divine, 
And what thou givest shall be thine. 



38 



THE VIVISECTOR 

He look'd so coarse and so red, 

I could think he was one of those who could break their jests 

on the dead, 

And mangle the living dog that had loved him and fawn'd 

at his knee — 

Drench' d with the hellish oorali—that ever such things 

could be! 

Tennyson: In the Child's Hospital. 

WOULD I the vivisector's hand enclasp? 
May God forbid! 
Let the red scoundrel go his way; not mine 
To share his cruel life to shame and mercy doubly 
dead. 
The air I would not breathe he breathes; the 
wine 
Of life should be unmixed with gall. A heart of 
flint may be 
A thing to wonder at a while, but not 
To love and trust, though Science and Fair Learn- 
ing yield their names 
To cover o'er the dark and damning blot 
Of his base deeds. With blood his hands are red, 
and more than foul 
From reeking filth of shambles where resound, 
39 



40 The Vivisector 

From creatures misnamed dumb, despairing cries 
of agony — 
Vain cries for mercy : mercy is not found 
Where men more like to fiends in hell, with ruth- 
less hearts perverse, 
Live, and delight them in the pain they give. 
May God on them the mercy they refuse bestow! 
but I 
Must still remain too human to forgive. 

A little dog too gentle to defend itself from wrong, 
By years of kindness taught to trust, was rudely 
bound one day. 
A ruffian who himself " physician " called, the 
quiv-ring nerves 
Dissected out with greedy knife, the blood all 
dripping down 
From his vile hands upon the sanded floor. The 
creature's howls 
Of agony he heeded not ; the shameful lust of 
pain 
Was in his loveless soul; the joy of butchery 
inspired 
His icy bosom with the spirit of the ancient 
Cain, 
For he would have dissected out his brother's 
heart, could he 
Have won applause from men as vile and brutal 
as himself. 



The Vivisector 41 

Around him wounded creatures lay; instruments 
of torture 
Covered all the slippery floor and the ensan- 
guined shelf. 
The air was heavy with the fetor of decay; a 
sense 
Of deepening horror darkly brooded all the 
place, as though 
The creatures, great and small, that he had cut 
or torn apart, 
Had left him with their curse a nameless 
legacy of woe. 
Upon him by mere chance I came, but ne'er 
shall I forget 
The scene my vision met in shambles where he 
gladly wrought, 
And in the name of Holy Science, to his students 
round, 
With conscience seared and shameless, all the 
art of murder taught. 

Yet there be Christian men and women who his 
lie believe: 
" 'T is for advance of Science and to help the 
Healing Art 
That countless beasts, and birds, and swimming 
creatures God hath made, 
Must mangled be, and cut, and burned, and 
rudely torn apart." 



42 The Vivisector 

Great God ! have we not human hearts who boast 

a Christian name? 
Are we all dead to conscience and to every sense 

of shame? 
When we lift not our voices 'gainst so great a 

deed of wrong, 
The baseness is our own, to us the brutal crimes 

belong. 



DUST TO DUST 

DUST to dust ! " cries out an ancient church, 
Above the lonely graves of all her dead; 
Better the silent lip, could no sweet word 
Of tender hope and pity there be said. 

Earth to earth, and ashes unto ashes ! " 

Not thus to trembling hearts spake Christ 

of old. 
Thy dead shall live," breathes from the Sacred 

Page, 
And lo ! from every tomb the stone is rolled. 



43 



MODERN SPIRITUALISM. 

A TRUST that ancient folly yet shall come 
To feed on all the human race; 
A ghastly faith that kneels before a lie, 
And glories in its own disgrace. 

A faith that tramples reason 'neath its foot, 
And mocks the wisdom of the schools; 

That drives the holy angels out of Heaven, 
And fills the future world with fools. 



44 



MATERIALISM 

Suggested by Biichner's Kraft und Stoff. 

A FAITH that grasps the outer shell, 
But never seeks for hidden fruit; 
And to explain the soul of song, 

Would weigh and measure pipe and lute. 



45 



TRANSCENDENTALISM 

A DARK abyss where nothing is; 
Adown whose silent spaces deep, 
From naught to naught, with wild delight, 
The modern saint and sibyl leap. 



46 



THE SAFEST CREED 

NAME me the safest creed," I cried, 
;i These warring faiths my mind confuse. 
Then answer made a gentle Voice: 

" To none who seek thy help, refuse ; 
Do good, believe that good shall come, — 

That out of darkness light shall shine; 
In every man a brother see, 

And thou hast found a creed divine. 
The age shall Calvin's name forget, 

And Channing's words shall die in air, 
But they who love their fellow men, 

Shall find the future bright and fair." 



47 



ASPIRATION 

AS longs the star for night. 
The flower for sun; 
So longs my soul for Thee, 
O Holy One. 



48 



BERKLEY CHURCHYARD 

HOW still are all the dead, 
Each in his narrow bed; 
None anxious vigil keep, 
But all are fast asleep; 
On every brow is rest, 
Peace dwells in every breast. 
It is a great relief 
To know that neither grief, 
Nor any sad distress, 
Nor doubt, nor weariness, 
Their slumber shall disturb. 

Yonder the gray church-tower 
The spreading elms embower; 
Its storied window looks 
Through ivy-mantled nooks, 
To where the roses bloom 
O'er ruined wall and tomb. 
No more the walks are trod, 
Where clover-blossoms nod; 
The yellow daisies bright, 
All rimmed with spotless white, 
In matchless beauty wave 
49 



50 Berkley Churchyard 

O'er crumbling stone and grave. 
The heavy velvet moss 
Obscures a marble cross, 
A funeral urn, and half 
The quaint old epitaph, 
Where years and years ago, 
When earth was white with snow, 
And winter winds were rife, 
They brought the gentle wife, 
And laid her down to rest; 
Hands folded on her breast, 
And on her sad, sweet face 
Such meek and holy grace, 
The preacher scarce could say 
The prayer, but turned away 
And wept. The story yet 
We cannot quite forget, 
Though fifty years are flown 
Since on the sculptured stone 
The scripture verse they placed, 
And her sweet name they traced. 

Yonder an old woodbine, 
Fast to a lifeless pine, 
Clings trembling in the wind. 
Whose bones are here enshrined, 
Beneath its wealth of green? 
The flowers that bloom between 



Berkley Churchyard 51 

The loosening joints of stone, 
Have wholly overgrown 
The once familiar name, 
Long known to village fame. 
Here rests a rural bard; 
His lowly lot was hard, 
His vision drear and dun. 
Some poor applause he won 
In humble hearts and homes; 
No tooled and gilded tomes 
Contain his simple rhymes, 
Nor in far distant climes 
His rustic songs are sung, 
But here when he was young 
He wrote, and early died. 
The simple folk some pride 
In his rude work displayed, 
And o'er his grave they made 
This record carved in stone. 
A little volume bound 
In paper, once I found — 
'Twas all he left the world. 

Beneath a chestnut tree 
Yonder a tomb I see, 
Of costly marble wrought, 
From distant quarry brought, 
And reared with vulgar pride, 



Berkley Churchyard 

So strong it must abide 
When many years have flown. 
Well is the story known, 
Recorded not in stone, 
But all remembered still. 
His was the ruined mill, 
Whose bones lie here at rest; 
And in that mill a chest 
Contained his hard-earned gold; 
Who 't was the secret told, 
Was never known. One night, 
By some strange oversight, 
Unlocked was left the door; 
We never knew much more, 
Only when morning broke, 
Dead upon his floor of oak 
The wealthy miller lay. 
Who took the gold away, 
A secret to this day 
Remains. Yet one dark night, 
Some hand did boldly write 
Upon the snow-white shaft, 
A rude remorseful draft 
Of a confession, made 
With purpose to evade 
Disclosure, yet express 
Contrition and distress. 
The cleansing snow and rain 



Berkley Churchyard 53 

Have washed that mark of Cain 
From the fair stone away; 
Remains not to betray 
The writer, one sad line. 

What mem'ries cluster here ! — 
The smile of hope, the tear 
Of sorrow and regret, 
And anxious thoughts that fret 
The inward soul of man. 
How brief life's little span! 
How sweet life's golden day, 
That will not with us stay! 
And yet is death not sweet, 
A calm and cool retreat 
After the toil and heat, 
The weakness and defeat, 
Of our frail human lot? 
Once to the village came 
Whom many years of shame 
Had left rare beauty still; 
It was her last sad will, 
That here her dust might lie 
Beneath her native sky; 
She would nor praise nor blame 
Should e'er engrave her name, 
Nor any mound be made. 
To tell where they had laid, 



54 Berkley Churchyard 

Beneath the quiet shade, 
Of an o'erhanging bough, 
The fair dishonored brow 
That only longed for rest. 



How strange a thing is life — 

The wild incessant strife 

Of passion and despair! 

Before we are aware, 

The day is flown for aye — 

So soon 't is time to die. 

Death never yet forgot, 

In palace or in cot, 

In any time or place, 

One of our passing race. 

Before me stands the shaft 

Of one whose gentle craft 

It was to carve in wood; 

In all the neighborhood 

Was known his wondrous skill. 

Now yonder daffodil 

Grows from the dust that wrought, 

The cunning brain that thought. 

Why was his life so brief? 

Ask thou the fallen leaf 

That lies before thee now, 

Why from its parent bough, 

Ere came the winter-day, 



Berkley Churchyard 55 

So soon it fell away. 
Ask thou the withered flower, 
That bloomed its little hour, 
And at thy feet lies dead. 
No more its fragrance shed 
Upon the evening air, 
Breathes softly everywhere 
The thought of summer fair. 
Death reigns forevermore ; 
And yet we need not pore, 
In lonely doubt and grief, 
O'er fallen flower and leaf. 
Life hath its joy for all : 
The vine on yonder wall, 
Where spotted lizards crawl, 
And the glad robins call 
Gaily their feathered young. 
Has, all unnoticed, sprung 
From the dark earth below. 
The winter's frost and snow, 
Gave it new strength to grow. 
Out of our griefs arise 
The things that most we prize. 
Life is too brief for tears, 
Too soon it disappears; 
Nor should our foolish fears 
Make sad the flying years. 
From these let us arise 



56 Berkley Churchyard 

To greet the morning skies, 
To welcome the bright noon, 
Or watch the silver moon 
Flood with its mellow light 
The erstwhile lonely night, — 
Lonely no more since we, 
In earth and air and sea 
May use and beauty find. 
We may not leave behind 
Our grief, and yet behold ! 
From it there may unfold, 
As from the bud a flower, 
Some rich and golden hour. 

Back from the wars there came 
A soldier — read his name 
Unknown to larger fame, 
On these rude broken stones, 
That like his crumbling bones. 
Themselves are crumbling now. 
The heavy lilacs bow, 
Until they touch the ground 
In the low sunken mound 
Where the gray squirrels hide. 
'T is said he was a scout ; 
From battle oft without 
A single wound he came; 
Yet, such is human fame ! 



Berkley Churchyard 57 

His grave is left alone, 

With weed and vine o'ergrown. 

And here I muse a while, 

Beside this ruined pile, 

And dream of that bright day 

When war shall pass away, 

The crime of battle cease, 

And universal peace 

Shall greater conquest know, 

Than sword and gun can show. 

With bowed and reverent head, 
Above his dust I tread, 
Who though men call him dead, 
Speaks to the list'ning ear, 
To counsel and to cheer. 
Beside the soldier brave, 
In even humbler grave, 
The village pastor lies. 
Himself he put aside, 
To be the friend and guide 
Of lowly ones and meek; 
'Twas his their good to seek. 
Unlettered rustics heard 
From his pure lips the word 
Of warning or of praise; 
And all his useful days 
To quiet toil he gave, 



58 Berkley Churchyard 

The erring soul to save. 
His holy life was bright 
With a diviner light 
Than earthly science knows. 
I pluck the clamb'ring rose 
Where he lies now at rest; 
Of all, his life was best. 
On this wild fragrant flower, 
The child of sun and shower, 
Pressed in some cherished book, 
Oft will I musing look. 
The leaves though faded, still 
Shall from themselves distil 
An odor rich and rare, 
Not for our earthly air, 
But for the inward sense. 
God grant when we go hence, 
Some kindly word or deed, 
Far more than rite or creed, 
And more than worldly gain, 
To all may still remain — 
Our gift of love for men. 



THE DAISY 

A LITTLE daisy, 
White and gold, 
In my garden grew; 
All the daisy knew, 

Could be told 
In five lines or less; 
Yet the day I bless, 

That little flower, 

With heavenly dower, 
Sweet comfort brought to me. 

In its humble grace, 

I beheld the face 

Of the Christ of old, 
Who the birds and flowers, 

Loved with tender love. 

Would He love me less 
Than He loved the lilies long ago? 
Little daisy, bright and fair, 
We may trust His constant care, 
In field and garden everywhere. 



59 



THE NEW AGE 

NO more in believing, enduring affection, 
The age of strong creeds and unshaken 

confessions 
Lives, with its power of daily conferring 
Strength to the heart that, often desponding, 
Cries for a wisdom abiding and perfect, 
To illumine the vision with splendor of hope. 
Names that charmed and sweetly controlled us 
Are silent, and silent shall ever remain, 
Though we strive to rekindle with prayer and 

devotion 
The flame they once fed in the heart's deep 

retreat. 
But nobler and wiser, when once we discern 

them, 
Lead onward forever brave Duty and Action, 
With strength to encounter, and vanquish un- 
daunted 
The spectres of conscience that distract and 

bewilder, 
And lay them o'erthrown in the dust at our feet. 
Not the creed, but the deed is the hope of the 

future : 

60 



The New Age 61 

The rule of the priest shall vanish away, 
But the life that is lived with earnest endeavor, 
Stout heart to endure, brave hands to achieve, 
Shall build us anew the temple of worship, 
And the Christ shall return with His message 
of peace. 



A MODERN PREACHER 

HE was a preacher of the modern sort, — 
One third religious and two thirds a sport ; 
On Sunday preaching best to fill the pews, 
A little Gospel and more human views ; 
His sermons spiced with lively" storm and stress," 
And well reported in the daily press. 



62 



THEOLOGICAL EXPERTS 

Bishops have a clear right to expect from all men devout 
and willing submission in matters of both doctrine and 
practice. They are theological experts, and in a very real 
sense the directors of conscience. It is not to be denied 
that there have been among our Spiritual Lords some who 
were incompetent and even unworthy, but even these sat 
in Moses' seat and might not be disobeyed with impunity. 
Implicit obedience is the one great law of the church. — 
Church Paper. 

WHEN the gay monkey reigns, 
We all do well to dance; 
And when the ass parades, 
We all do well to prance. 



The monkey and the ass, 

They both can play the flute; 

The wise man is a fool, 

Who would with them dispute. 

The teachers one and all, 
They sit in Moses' seat; 

They know the whole of truth, 
The will of God complete. 
63 



64 Theological Experts 

He is a fool indeed, 

Who would with them contend; 
Can we the ass instruct? 

The monkey comprehend? 

Discourse thou noble ass, 
To wisdom we incline; 

Be patient till our minds 
Climb slowly up to thine. 

Both ass and monkey reign, 
And daily they parade; 

'T is ours to dance and prance, 
To their sweet serenade. 



EVERLASTING TRIFLES 

Horum quis est, qui non malit rempublicam turbari, quam 
comam suam? qui non sollicitior sit de capitis sui decore, 
quam de salute generis humani ? — Seneca. 

A CURL, a scarf-pin, or some foolish thing, 
Sets all the world awry; 
'Twas so when gay old Horace lived and loved, 

And will be so for aye. 
His life wise Seneca destroyed, to please 

A graceless royal rogue: 
To kill a sage to glad a brutal king, 

Was good old Roman vogue. 
Two thousand years have flown, and we, alas ! 

Are as our fathers were, 
For wealth of mind and heart are little worth, — 

Gold sets the world astir. 



65 



VANITY 

LO ! I have suffered deeply 
In passion and in pain ; 
The fruits of life have tasted, 

I will not taste again. 
Where sang the birds in summer — 

Where bloomed the flowers in June, 
The winter snows are drifting 
Beneath the silver moon. 

The golden lights are darkened, 

The harp's sweet sounds are o'er, 
The singing times are ended, 

They will return no more. 
The flowers were bruised in anger, 

The grapes were crushed in vain, 
There came no wine of laughter 

From out the fruit of pain. 



66 



ON THE REMOVAL OF THE REMAINS 
OF CALDERON 

1840 

UNTO a tomb more splendid than was thine, 
O gentle poet of rare mind and art divine, 
There was no need transfer thy sacred dust; 
Nor need to rear for thee the marble bust! 
Increased renown to seek for thee were vain, 
For lo, thy tomb is Portugal and Spain! 



67 



FICHTE'S GRAVE 

Dorotheenstadt Cemetery, Berlin, November 16, 1895. 

HERE rests a pilgrim at his journey's end, 
Nor smiting sun nor blasting storms disturb 
Repose well earned, his day of life well spent; 
Sweet Death hath mixed for him her drowsy 
herb, 
Infused a gentle slumber through his veins, 

And on his brow impressed the kiss of peace; 
Here joy and sorrow, equal strife to him, 

And all his doubt, and love, and longing cease. 

Hegel and Solger by his side repose, 

And near, the gentle wife who loved him well; 
Around his grave the evening shadows fall, 
And through the tree-tops weave their won- 
drous spell; 
Hard by the sculptured marble bears his name, 

And words from Daniel's rapt and mystic page : 
" Like the bright firmament the teachers shine ; 

And as the stars of heaven forevermore, 
Who turn men's thoughts to righteousness and 
God, 
And teach the heart to worship and adore." 
68 



Fichte's Grave 69 

Dear master of the thoughts of men, in love 

Upon thy grave these humble lines I place; 
O'er me the light of reason thou hast shed, 

And all my doubts and brooding fears effaced; 
The flame that Kant had kindled thou didst fan 

To brighter radiance of thy heavenly fire; 
Thy living words had wisdom to console, 

The power to cleanse, illumine, and inspire. 



WORSHIP 

FORMS are dissolving, 
As shadows they fade; 
Best is the worship 
That seeks no reward; 
Devout the petition 
No answer attends; 
More blessed is God 
Than the thing He bestows. 
Seek not and strive not, 
He waits at the door. 
Changeless, enduring, 
The spirit remains, 
When the mould into fragments 
Is shattered at last. 



70 



SPINOZA 

Schliermacher, " Rede uber die Religion." 

A LOCK of hair to good Spinoza's manes ! 
The Spirit of the world infused his own; 
He saw the boundless universe instinct 

With love, and yet, alas! he dwelt alone. 
Filled with divine and happy thought, his mind 

Took little heed of human praise or blame ; 
Disciples he had none, yet deathless glory 
Crowned with her laurel his immortal name. 



7« 



GOD 

TEN thousand worlds His face behold, 
Beneath His feet the stars are dust, 
Yet man contains Him all in all. 
In our rude speech He speaks His will, 
Not wild the sibyl's frenzy was, 
Nor was the prophet's warning vain; 
Still brightly burns the hallowed fire, 
And stammering lips the message breathe 
The Love creative reappears, 
And as the Father, so the child. 



12 



FAME 

IN his vast gardens, once an Oriental lord 
A stately palace reared in Ghazneh fair; 
And that he might his royal father greatly please, 
He sought to make a splendid banquet there. 
But o'er the father's face a shade of sadness fell: 
" Dear son," spake he, " my wealthy subjects 
all 
Could with their gold a thousand pleasure- 
structures build; 
'T were nobler far to heed the heavenly call, 
And for thy soul construct a temple of such fame 
As wealth and knowledge nevermore can give. 
Strive not ambition's gilded dream of power to 
grasp, 
But learn for more abiding fame to live." 
Long years ago Mohammed's palace fell, 

And o'er the plain its stones are scattered wide ; 
But still with fond delight the monarch's name is 
breathed, 
His deeds of valor and his fame abide. 

Learn thou, my soul, that more than sacred lesson 
well: 
Who lives for good achieved, his fame endures ; 
To all who serve their age, and love their fellow 
men, 
The holy Allah his reward insures. 



73 



BE STILL AND WAIT 

BE still, O Soul! 
For thee unwearied toils th' Immortal Love, 
And from the tangled threads of time 
Doth weave the garment of eternity. 
Be still and wait. 
The loom hath many threads, 
But the swift shuttle runneth well; 
A day, a night, and lo ! between two hours 
The fabric falls. 
Be still and wait, 

For thou shalt wear the garment of eternity, 
The shining robe of immortality. 



74 



THE RULE OF LIFE 

WITH Reason dwell in ever sweet delight, — 
A noble purpose in thy daily life, 
To which, as turns the needle to the pole, 

Thou mov'st with neither haste nor eager strife. 
Seek not unfathomed mysteries to view, 

Nor let brief trifles stir thine inner mind; 
Desire not boundless wealth, nor knowledge vast; 

Be not self-centred — to thy neighbor blind; 
Waste no regret on what thou canst not change 

Let common joys supply a sane delight. 
Thus live, and peace shall be thy changeless 
friend ; 
Gladness shall fill thy day, and sleep thy night. 



75 



REVERIE 

ALL around me, everywhere, 
Through the dreamy world of air — 
Underneath me, overhead, 
Like the shadows of the dead, 

Float the endless mysteries. 

Through the russet Autumn leaves, 
Where the purple twilight weaves 
Wondrous webs of light and shade, 
Silent cities rise and fade — 

Cities without histories. 

Through the tangle and the brake, 
Till they meet the silver lake, 
Run the merry mountain streams — 
Fall like ever-fading dreams 

In the ocean of the night. 

O'er the mountain, through the glen, 
And the city filled with men, 
Float the navies of the air — 
Drop their anchors everywhere 

Through the silent depths of light. 
76 



Reverie 77 

Underneath them waves of sound, 
With strange melody resound; 
On their decks the sailors sing, 
Keeping time with everything 

On the earth and in the air. 

And within me, like a voice, 
Something bids my soul rejoice, 
Saying : " Seek not to explain, 
Where thy search must be in vain; 

Let thy soul be lost in prayer." 



ONLY A WORD 

ONLY a flower that grew awhile, 
By the dusty roadside there, 
One thing 'mid grime, and heat, and weeds, 
Fragrant, and fresh, and fair. 

One word in all the fierce debate, 

Tender, and kind, and true; 
Dear word, my life is better now, 

And sweeter far for you. 



73 



TO ONE ABOUT TO DIE 

FOR thee Time weaves her silver thread 
Between the living and the dead. 

The tide of years runs smooth and still 
Through the sweet valley of God's will. 

The banks are scented far above 
With the white lilies of His love. 

And, through the wind's triumphant song, 
He bids thy passing soul be strong. 

I would not mar the perfect grace 
That God hath shed upon thy face 

With one sad word of song or prayer, — 
But leave thee, as He made thee, fair. 



79 



" USE WELL THE PASSING HOUR. ,, 

NOR strive nor sorrow more 
The tearless dead: 
To all impartial Fate 
Metes out a common lot. 
As on some lonely moor, 
With sedge o'ergrown, 
And lichens dank, 
Descends the boreal snow, 
Her mantle dull Oblivion spreads 
In silence and repose. 
Brief are man's days, 
And all unequal his desires. 
He questions much, — 
How little he discerns! 
On years of doubt 
How late the wisdom that attends! 
Therefore, what life to thee remains 
Live well; 

Make holy covenant 
With conscience free of inward guilt, 
And noble purpose reared to deeds of love. 
To thee remains, 

80 



" Use Well The Passing Hour" 81 

How brief so e'er it be, 

Some season wisdom may improve. 

Use well the passing hour. 

To pray, if gods attend, 

Is wise in man, 

Yet they pray best 

Who labor most; 

Than smoking holocausts, 

Oblations rare, 

And rites austere, 

Is honest toil preferred, 

That, rich in its abundance, 

Yields divine reward. 



THE SECRET KNOWLEDGE 

Of that ineffable essence which we call Spirit, he who 
thinks most will say least. — Emerson. 

I HAVE seen God, 
Yet what He is 
I may not say, 
Lest when you think, 
And when you pray, 
What He is not 
He should appear. 
Was He begot 
Of our rude speech? 
Nay, but to each 
He is more dear. 

Forever streams 
His presence bright, 
In varied hues, 
Reflected well 
In many souls; 
But who can tell 
What sweet delight 
To each is given? 
82 



The Secret Knowledge 83 

I may not preach, 
You may not hear; 
There is no rule, 
Austere command, 
Or stern decree 
Of any school, 
Or creed to teach. 
No inward strife 
Can bring him near. 

Why should you ask 
Of Him or His? 
Why seek to know 
His plan for me? 
Will thou His will, 
And go thy way. 



VIRGILII CARMINA 

Ex Typographia Firminorum Didot. 

HOW I love thee, little book! 
Virgil made thee years ago- 
Sweeter poet never lived 
In this winter-world of ours; 
And good Didot printed well 
All thy pages fair to see; 
'T was an artist of rare grace 
Made the pictures that adorn 
Volume of such sweet delight, 
From the Roman singer's heart. 
What companionship is thine, 
Gentle friend of happy hours! 
When I turn thy sacred leaves, 
Page on page of minted gold, 
Jewels from the mine of thought, 
Flowers of earth, and asphodel, 
All are mine — O, treasure great! 

When the evening shadows fall, 
And the twinkling stars on high 
Burn above my quiet home, 
In my little room I go, 
84 



Virgilii Carmina 85 

And before the firelight muse, 
With the Georgics open wide. 

y£neas lives again in thee: 
Throng around me men of old; 
Songs of battle and of love, 
Songs of ploughed and fertile fields, 
Gladness of our human life, 
Toil, and sorrow, and despair, 
All that man has known or been, 
Throb and burn upon thy page. 
O, what bliss my heart inspires, 
As I wander far away, 
With my Virgil hand in hand! 



FOLLOW THE LIGHT 

Wer frei will seyn 

Der folge diesem Sonnenschein. 

TO moping owl, 
And loathsome bat, 
Leave starless gloom. 
The mole may burrow, 
But the bird will soar, 
And all the echoing wood 
With music flood. 
Wouldst thou be free? 
Follow the sunlight; 
Caverns dark forsake, 
Where crumbling hopes and fears 
Of creeds and races dead, 
Moulder in slow decay, 
And nevermore the golden sun 
Sheds warmth and welcome cheer. 
The morning-red with radiant wing salute; 
Through azure spaces of unclouded sky, 
Follow with glad triumphant song, 
The glory of the opening day. 



86 



AT THE TOMB OF SENANCOUR 

IN Sevres before a tomb I stood and read, 
'Neath waving willow and an ilex there, 
The name of one whose aching heart breathed 

out 
With dying breath this last and bitter prayer: 
" Be thou Eternity, my refuge ! " None 

Was there for thee but silence and the night: 
And as I mused, a bird flew swiftly by, 

God's sunlight flashing from its pinions bright. 

Of Oberman's enchanted page I thought, 

The story of thy lonely pilgrim days; 
I pondered if Eternity at last 

Were welcome goal of thy sad wand'ring ways. 
And as I mused, far up a leafy bough 

The bird sang sweetly of great love and hope; 
The air was fragrant with the breath of flowers, — 

The wild red rose and purple heliotrope. 

O Senancour, there is a refuge here 

For earthly sorrow and our wild unrest! 

The hill, the forest, and the running brook 
Invite repose on Nature's soothing breast; 

87 



88 At the Tomb of Senancour 

And when our little selves we do forget, 

In the bright world of beauty God hath made, 

Scant power hath human ill the heart to vex, 
Nor is there boding woe to make afraid. 

Far from the crowded city's wildering maze, 

God meets us in the flight of singing birds; 
His voice is in the winds and sounding sea, 

And in the lowing of the peaceful herds. 
The simple joys of rural life have grace 

To still the tumult of our care and doubt; 
From artificial thoughts our life allure, 

And these poor pleasures we might do without. 

This lesson from thy lonely tomb I learn, 

Thou gifted son of genius and despair: 
'T is only when our sense of self we lose, 

As well we lose our burden and our care. 
All Nature thrills with music and with song, 

When we have ears to catch the heavenly 
strain ; 
And when with love our hearts are warm and 
true, 

We know He made us not to live in vain. 



THE IMPRISONED SOUL 

OH weary, sorrowful soul of man, 
Forever struggling at the gate ! 
Thou know'st not that a prison holds thee ; 
The bars are welded time and fate. 

An angel waits without to free thee, 
To ope the gate and break the chain; 

Thou v/ilt not bid the angel enter, 
But striv'st to free thyself in vain. 

The angel's name is sweet Contentment, 
She bids thee give the struggle o'er; 

But reach her hand within the darkness, 
And time and fate shall bind no more. 



89 



" SIGH NOT A VANISHED PAST." 

WHY chase the flying dream 
Of wealth and fame? 
For us the marble waits; — 
A date — a name. 

The grass is green to-day, 

The heavens are blue; 
The summer heart holds now 

Love sweet and true. 

Fill the swift hour with glad, 

Kind deeds and words; 
The fragrance of the flowers, 

The song of birds. 

Sigh not a vanished past, 

A fading year: 
Enrich the passing hour, 

And banish fear. 

So shall the world grow young, 

And envy die; 
Peace from the heavens descend, 

And God draw nigh. 



90 



HAFIZ 

WINE, wine, sweet wine, 
Rich blood divine 
Of purple vine, 
With glowing fire 
My soul inspire, 
And tune my lyre! 

" Hafiz is dead," 
The maidens said, 
" Drowned in the red 
Wine-wave. Alas ! 
Who shall surpass, 
On the green grass 
Or the blue sea, 
Hafiz the free?" 

In sweet surprise, 
From the clear skies 
Of Zara's eyes, 
A shining dart 
Pierced Hafiz's heart. 

From the red wave, 
She thought his grave, 
91 



Q2 Hafiz 

With deathless song, 
Clear, sweet, and strong, 
Sprang Persia's lyre 
Of mingled fire 
And sweet desire. 

" Wine, wine for me, 
Hafiz the free! 
And when I die, 
My soul shall fly 
From love's alarms 
To Zara's arms." 



SOMEWHERE 

SOMEWHERE a place is waiting- 
Has waited long for me; 
I cannot tell if on the land, 
Or in the deep blue sea. 

It may be on the mountain-top, 
By wandering breezes fanned; 

Or in some lonely valley, 
In a forsaken land. 

But whether it be on the land, 
Or, 'neath the boundless sea; 

It is the place that Nature holds 
Close to her heart for me. 



93 



THALIA 

FIERCE flames fell on your brow upturned 
To meet th' eternal light; 
Immortal fire from heaven came down, 

To make your dark eyes bright; 
Your cruel limbs, your shapely form, 
The high gods wrought their best; 
They stamped with kisses soft and sweet 
Their image on your breast. 

They formed your subtle nerves and veins, 

And bade your pulses swell; 
They filled your breathing flesh with life, 

And shaped your spirit well. 
Then down the changing isles of time 

With solemn chant they came, 
And to the sound of silver harps 

They syllabled your name. 

Seven golden flames the high gods wrought 

And bound them in your hair, 
And all the heavens sent songs to you, 

And all the earth sweet prayer: 
But lo! one temple there was found 

Where no soft lights were shed ; 
That lonely temple was my heart — 

The dwelling of the dead. 



94 



THE FAR HORIZON 



SWING low, thou silver moon! 
The rhyme and rune 
Of frost and snow, 
Of seas that flow, 
And winds that blow, 
Of weed and flower 
That sun and shower, 
Rejoicing, bring 
To every spring, 
Keep time and tune. 
A gentle mirth 
Fills all the earth; 
O'er vale and height 
The quiet light 
Of heaven descends : 
Swing low, thou silver moon — 
Flood all the restful noon 
Of this sweet summer night, 
With calm and holy light! 
Swing low! swing low! 
95 



q6 The Far Horizon 

Swing low, thou silver moon! 

On nature's breast 

My heart, at rest, 

The music hears 

Of singing years, 

And laughing flowers; 

I watch the hours 

Unfold their wings; 

To meet the skies, 

The mists arise 

Through all the day, 

In circles gray, 

O'er purple hills; 

The night comes down 

Upon the town; 

And o'er the sea, 

The mystery 

Of created things 

A deeper darkness flings: 

Swing low, thou silver moon! 

Swing low! swing low! 

ii 

Swing low, thou silver moon! 
Another sound is in the air, 
A cry of anguish and despair. 
Dark shadows fall, and everywhere 
The lonely graves on sea and land 



The Far Horizon 97 

Rest not, but evermore demand 
To know the justice of man's fate: 
"Rules love, or only deathless hate?" 
War lifts her crimsoned sword on high, 
And at her feet the nations lie. 
Plague, famine, and disaster smite, 
And, in their wild and cruel might, 
Make sport of human hope and fear. 
The fruitless fields are brown and sere. 
The canker and the worm divide 
The glory of all earthly pride. 
The soul on dust and ashes fed, 
Wonders if God and love are dead. 
Did Heaven create the sword and flame? 
And plant th' accursed rose of shame 
In hearts that struggle with desire, — 
That would be pure, yet in the mire 
Of lust, sink deeper day by day? 
Hears Christ the countless hosts that pray 
In all His temples far and near, 
With sigh and penitential tear — 
That pray, and for an answer wait, 
While none returns, though oft and late 
Their cry goes up to Heaven in vain? 
What shall be said of fearful pain? 
The house of slaughter red with gore? 
The howl of anguish, the wild roar 
Of creatures desperate before 



g8 The Far Horizon 

The cruel vivisector's knife? 

What of the men who serve for life, 

In dungeon's far removed from hope? 

What of the hangman's gyves and rope? 

What shall be said of starving hosts 

That rot alive, where England boasts 

Her gentle rule and Gospel light? 

What of the golden parasite 

Of Godless wealth, the selfish gain 

That feeds upon the heart and brain? 

With lonely graves the earth is strewn; 

The dead are dead; the living groan 

In anguish that no tongue can tell ; 

And dark as fate, the fear of hell 

Looms black with doom, to mock the grace 

That shone upon the holy face 

Of One a Roman cross held high, 

'Twixt trembling earth and shud'ring sky — 

His love we owned; His word believed; 

Is God not good? Are we deceived? 

Swing low, swing low, thou silver moon ! 

The earth and sky are out of tune. 

in 

Swing low, swing low, thou silver moon ! 
Hope beckons with inviting hand; 
Not all man's trouble can withstand 
Her gentle smile of heavenly peace; 



The Far Horizon 99 

For every soul she hath surcease 

Of anguish and despair at last. 

We are not what we were of old, 

And when the story has been told 

Of all the ages, who shall say 

The flame that burned in our dull clay 

Was made to smoulder and expire? 

New wisdom shall our race acquire. 

On every altar holier fire, 

A nobler faith shall kindle there. 

Beyond the anguish and distress, 

The fears that all our hearts oppress, 

Beyond the wrong we may not right, 

I see the dawning of the light. 

The living Christ shall yet return; 

The eastern star again shall burn; 

Eternal love shall win the day. 

Swing low, swing low, thou silver moon! 

To all our race, the richest boon 

Is not what we have been or are, 

But what awaits us from afar. 

Swing low! swing low! 

The future beckons, and we go! 



PRAYER FOR STRENGTH 

Eventide. 

THROUGH visions of the night and toils 
of day, 
Let no temptation's power my purpose, sway: 
But grant, dear Lord, Thy love's unchanging 

might, 
To keep my trembling faith and honor bright. 

Be hand and heart alert to do Thy will, 
Not with impatient haste, but calm and still; 
Thus when the long day's work for Thee is done, 
My waiting soul shall dread no setting sun. 

At last when softly fall the shadows deep, 
And sinks th' o'er weary brain to quiet sleep, 
From every anxious care and burden free, 
Le me forevermore abide with Thee. 



ioo 



QUIET POWER 

SERENE and still, 
The mighty will 
Of God prevails 
Where striving fails. 
They win the day, 
Who learn the way 
Of quiet power, 
And bide their hour. 
No work is wrought 
By anxious thought. 
Our foolish haste 
Makes greater waste. 
Life's golden prize 
Before him lies, 
Who takes his time. 



IN ARA-CCELI 

Feb. 4, 1886. 

OHOLY lies, how have ye, one and all, 
Our blind and groping human race 
deceived ! 
Devout they were who could not trust in God, 
Yet in monk Luca's pictures of our Lord, 
And in the " Holy Coat " at Treves believed. 
The mighty Spirit who created all, 
And to our crumbling dust Himself imparts, 
Seemed scarcely worth an idle passing thought. 
Celestial roses dropped from Paradise, 
And speaking crucifixes, deftly wrought 
In hallowed falsehood and ecstatic prayer, 
Appeared, in every time and everywhere, 
More worthy faith divine and bended knee 
Than God, eternal truth, and liberty. 



102 



TRUST 
Naomi. 

I CANNOT know if good or ill 
My future lot enfold; 
But, Lord, I rest in peace, because 
Thou dost that future hold. 

And though at times my spirit fails, 

And weary seems the day, 
I grasp Thy hand and follow on 

Through all the lonely way. 

I care not if the road be rough, 
Or filled with flowery ease; 

The hardest road with Thee is smooth; 
Without Thee none can please. 

I would not, Lord, apart from Thee, 
Bright wealth or pleasure choose; 

And what I have, I pray Thee now, 
For Thine own glory use. 

Thus may I trust Thy holy Word, 
And follow Thy sweet will ; 

Assured that in the darkest night 
Thou art beside me still. 



103 



MADONNA 

BARE was the breast that cradled Christ, 
Pierced for the great world's sake; 
She said: "If men forsake not sin, 
This wounded heart must break." 

Then down from Heaven a golden light 

In robes of music fell; 
A voice cried : " Thou art Queen of Heaven, 

But I am King of Hell." 

Seven silver flames her crown enclosed; 

Their pallid lights were shed 
Upon her face, to God upturned, 

Like starlight on the dead. 



104 



FREEDOM 

THE truth shall make you free!" 
Free ! — that is the very thing men fear. 
The houses of convention 
Are so warm and snug, 
There is such sweet delight and cheer 
Beneath the rafters of some old belief, 
Men will not venture into open air. 

Yet just beyond the threshold bloom 
Bright world on world of fragrant flowers 
That wear the beauty of a cloudless day, 
And radiant splendor of a thousand stars. 
Their plumes of green the forests lift, 
Where, clad in crimson and in gold, 
From bough to bough the happy birds 
Sing to the listening ear of morn. 



105 



DESCENT OF THE SPIRIT 

NOT till from fretful clamor rude we cease, 
And discontent, 
Shall th' blessed Spirit of eternal peace 
To us be sent. 

Th' transforming One that out from chaos wrought 

A thing of life, 
Flies hence at sound of wild discordant thought, 

And endless strife. 

In sacred hush of everlasting love, 

And holy rest, 
Descends the Spirit from the realms above, 

To be our guest. 

Therefore, awhile in faith let us retire — 

Shut to the door; 
That with Himself He may our hearts inspire 

Forevermore. 



106 



THE REAL CHRIST 

SHOULD Jesus Christ once more to earth 
return — 

The Christ of old in every way the same, 
Would He attend a church or wear a gown? 

Intone long prayers or light an altar-flame? 
Would He expound our doctrines? say the creed? 

Walk in procession? curtesy and bow? 
Desire our priestly honors and our gold? 

Would He take orders or assume a vow? 
Nay, would He not despise what most we prize? 

Consort with some who scarcely bear his name ? 
And pour contempt on sect, and priest, and 
creed ? 

And count our loud pretensions only shame? 
We think our fine distinctions please Him well, 

That He approves the selfish strifes we wage, — 
Strifes that have stained the " Christian " world 
with blood, 

And changed the love of God to churchly rage. 
Go to, ye bishops, priests, and preaching men ! 

Your forms are idle and your words are vain; 
When all your craft and worldly praise are dead^ 

The Son of Mary will return again. 



107 



AT THE LORD'S TABLE 

LORD, at Thy table I remember Thee : 
j Grant Thou Thy servant grace that he may 
be 
At other tables sweetly mindful still 
Both of Thy love and of Thy holy will; 
Thus shall he bring to every hearth and home, 
In every land o'er which his feet may roam, 
A kindness, tender, gracious, and divine, — 
A richer food than earthly bread and wine. 



108 



AGE 

"Hdrj yap 6 Bioq ovfxbq itnzipav ayec. 

WHEN life grows cold, 
And we are old; 
The fire burns low, 
And Winter's snow 
Falls through twilight air, 
And everywhere 
Is stillness and regret; 
And we forget 
All save the early day, 
So far away; 
When life is lonely, 
And we only 
Have ceaseless quest — 
Seeking for rest 
That lingers on the way, 
As loth to stay 
With dull and frosty age; 
Who shall our grief assuage — 
The weak regret and dole 
Of a poor trembling soul, 
With healing words console? 
109 



no Age 

Friend of the early day, 

If still there stay 

With us Thy presence dear, 

Nor grief nor fear, 

Nor sins that we deplore, 

Can wound us sore. 

There never can be grief, 

But Thy relief 

Shall fall like summer rain, 

That brings again 

The glad sweet flowers of spring. 

And so at last, 

Our work well done, 

Unmoved, we'll view 

The swift descending sun 

Go down for aye; 

And, one by one, the twinkling stars 

Light up the sky. 



WATCHMAN, WHAT OF THE NIGHT? " 

Isaiah xxi. n. 

ARISE! for Jesus Christ has come," 
Cried the watchman on his tower: 
A light flashed up the golden East, 
The great clock struck the holy hour. 

Men, women, and children came, 
Breathing His eternal name: 
" Jesus Christ is come," they said, 
" We dwell no longer with the dead." 

With waving hand and great glad shout, 
They thronged the watchman all about : 
The living air was filled with song; 
It was a wild tumultuous throng. 

"Where saw you sign of His return?" 
" Yonder behold the bright star burn ! " 
They gazed in wonder and delight, 
Upon the glory of that light. 

With splendor all the heavens did blaze, 
The earth sent back a shout of praise: 
" Jesus Christ is come ! " they cried, 
" He lives who died ! " 



in 



" COULD WE BUT TRUST HIS CONSTANT 
CARE " 

WHEN faith and reason sink from sight, 
The sun goes down and in its night, 
We pray with all our feeble might 
The prayer of Ajax: " Give me light!" 

But when the morning reappears, 
And fades as earthly mist our fears, 
The prayer for light He seldom hears, 
To whom our laughter and our tears 

Are as the passing of a dream. 
We foolish children little deem 
That neither darkness nor the gleam 
To Him as unto us doth seem. 

Both night and day to Him are one; 
The darkness and the noon-day sun, 
What we desire and what we shun 
With equal love He shines upon. 

Could we but trust His constant care, 
This world would be all bright and fair: 
" Thy will be done " would be our prayer, 
" In Heaven, on earth, and everywhere ! " 



THE POET TO THE YOUTH 

THOU by lingering for my song, 
Dost the world and me a wrong. 
Never yet was strain so sweet 
As the sound of willing feet. 
Greater than all hymns of praise — 
Better than melodious lays — 
Is the labor, strong and true, 
That shall build the world anew. 
I would give my songs away, 
For the new world's opening day. 



113 



ONE 

ONE blood are we; 
Therefore One Blood 
For us was shed, 
That as we still 
Are of a single race, 
We might become 
The one divine creation 
Of the one Creative Love. 



114 



THE EVENING OF THE LORD'S DAY 

AND now to rest — the sacred day is o'er! 
O Soul, it was a blessed day of grace, 
Made beautiful with holy love divine, 

And with the shining of thy Saviour's face. 



115 



COMRADESHIP 

DRIFTS a great sorrow like a lonely cloud, 
Drives hence the light, and darkens all 
the air; 
But in the smile of one true-hearted friend, 
Revives my courage and dissolves my care. 

Your helpful hand, good comrade, reach me now, 
Once more the sound of your glad voice I hear : 

The vision clears, my strength returns again, 
And rosy morn illumes the land and mere. 

One trusted friend with loyal heart and free, 
I hold a match for ruthless time and fate; 

A deathless fellowship of comrade-souls, 

Is nobler wealth than this poor world's estate. 



116 



TRUTH 

THERE danger dwells where dwells not Truth, 
Nor gold, nor gems, nor rosy youth, 
Shall friendly be, when she hath fled; 
The soul that knows her not is dead. 



117 



AFTER A FRUITLESS ARGUMENT 

WHY of the truth could I persuade you not? 
Because you surely held yourself to be 
Appointed of high Heaven my soul to save, 
And from the Wrath Divine to set me free. 

So hard you wrought my blinded eyes to ope, 
You had no vision for my truth ; and lo ! 

In vain we strove with loveless words, 
A dull and empty creed to overthrow. 

At length we only fought, nor either cared 
To take the gift that each had power to give; 

We could not see how worthless is the faith 
That cries, " Believe ! " and never whispers 
" Live ! " 

If I have sinned, my brother, hear this word 

Of penitent regret and kindly trust: 
Let there be peace between us while we live, — 

The same blue heavens shall bend above our 
dust. 
With equal vision we may never see, 

Nor yet the same cold form of words repeat; 
But we, where words and vision fail, may trust, 

And in a kindly life our hearts may meet. 



118 



COMMON SENSE 

STRIVE not for what beyond thine utmost 
striving lies, 

Nor sigh the thing that must forevermore 
remain ; 
Yield not to trifles that obstruct thine onward 
way; 

From lust of gold and knowledge evermore 
refrain. 
Not centered in thyself, but with a noble love, 

Seek thou thy daily gladness in another's joy. 
Thy neighbor's life should be the measure of 
thine own, 
For only universal pleasures never cloy; 
One homely virtue is man's ever-sure defense, 
His changeless friend— its name is Common 
Sense. 



119 



I REMEMBER 

ALMOST I loved you, 
But not quite; 
And now I do remember 
Through the long, dark night, 
Stretching far behind me, 
Like the restless sea, 
Desolate, lonely, sobbing, 
On the dark shores of long ago — 
I do remember! I do remember! 

Yes, I do remember! It was best! 
I did not wholly love you, — 
I only thought I might adore you: 
Thought ! You know the rest : 
You too remember 
(It was December) 
How, when the hills were white, 
And Winter day had faded 
To a longer Winter night, 
We quarrelled. 

'Twas a blessed quarrel that gave vision 
To a blind and wandering heart. 

120 



I Remember 121 

Ah well! Since then the flowers have faded, 

And have bloomed again in beauty many times; 

Now return the snows of Winter, 

After twenty years of Winter in my heart. 

I am dreaming, dreaming, dreaming 

Of the roses, fragrant, fair; 

Once you gayly bound them in your golden hair, 

While I shouted, wild with laughter, 

" Mea rosal Mea rosa! " 

Oh, so long — so long ago! 

Had I loved you? 

Had I ! — who can tell 

What had been my life to me 

Had I loved you well? 

I did not love you — that was all! 

Only still I must remember 

The lone desolate December, 

And its visions like pale ghost-fires 

Dancing in the midnight sky. 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

FOR every blade of grass, 
Remains a drop of dew; 
For every opening bud, 
Some flower's bright hue. 

To every man there comes 
An hour of glad surprise; 

A ray of golden light 

From out the deep blue skies. 

Expect that hour and hope, 
Enjoy that hour and live; 

Its memory when it dies, 
A sweeter life shall give. 



122 



TRAGEDY 

OH, the tragedy of the injustice of this world, 
Yoked to willing shoulders of good men I 
The consent of mute Indifference, 
To shame and crime that baffle, 
With a keen infernal cunning, 
Unceasing strife and brave endeavor 
Of all earnest hearts and true! 
The death-cry of despairing souls 
That will not build belief, 
Lest on the shifting sand of lies 
The bright house of life be founded! 
And the great star-lighted heavens 
Brooding silent over all! 



123 



THE DEATH PENALTY 

THEY err who think to silence crime with 
crime — 
The axe, the scaffold, and the block 
Make brutal all, and deeds of darkness fell, 
Like vultures, round the gibbet flock. 

The hangman makes the rogue he seeks to hang, 
And " life for life " is murder's rule. 

To crime repress, destroy the gallows-tree, 
And on its ruins build the school. 



124 



THE HERO 

LEARN to endure 
jl With no weak cry 
The thrusts of Fate; 
Forever sure 
The gods are nigh, 
With hearts elate, 
When men are strong 
To do and dare. 

Not clinging vine, 
But towering oak, 
The gods delight. 
Who match their might 
With might divine, 
And fear no ill 
That Fate can do, 
The gods reward. 
The dauntless heart, 
Unyielding will, 
And vision clear, 
New life impart, — 
New joy inspire; 
While grief and fear 
Are man's defeat. 
125 



126 The Hero 

Dry every tear, 
The future face; 
Let no disgrace 
Of base retreat, 
The gods enrage. 
Meet every foe 
With blow for blow, 
And e'en the gods 
Themselves engage. 



LINES 

Written after reading Salt's " The Logic of Vegetarianism. 

NO doubt I am a fool to eat 
Legs, tails, internal things, and feet; 
For he who makes of flesh a feast, 
Must come himself to be a beast. 

So good old Henry Salt believes, 
He 'd have us live on cabbage-leaves, 
Fruits, nuts, and juicy twigs, and bark, 
Whatever grows in wood or park. 

Ah me ! I am a sinner sure, 
With lips and stomach all impure: 
I've been by Christian cooks misled; 
Where shall I hide my guilty head? 

Come gentle browser on the sod, 
Lead my poor soul to peace and God; 
Henceforth this diet shall be mine:. 
Sweet clover-head and dandelion. 

Yet I may drink a glass of wine — 
Why not? It is the fruit of vine: 
On good Kentucky whiskey too 
Old Salt has placed no hard taboo. 

127 



128 Lines 

Draw near and light the evening flame, 
Dear Salt be thanked ! there is no shame 
In sweet tobacco — 't is a weed; 
It cannot suffer pain and bleed. 

Havana Twists and Henry Clays 
Make fragrant all our nights and days. 
What more can any sinner ask, 
Than sweet Perfectos and a flask? 

No more at Izaak Walton's feet, 
I take the merry angler's seat; 
Unharmed through friendly stream and sky, 
The fish may swim, the birds may fly. 

Nor gun nor hook shall bring them pain, 
The Golden Age shall come again, — 
At least, so far as I 'm concerned. 
The cruel heart that in me burned, 

Has heard hypnotic words from Salt, 
And I 've surrendered flesh for malt; 
Yet, on the whole, the truth to tell, 
I like the change in diet well. 



FORGIVENESS 

WHEN man goes astray, a demon from 
lowest hell 
Comes swiftly forth within his sinful soul to dwell, 
But when, with penitence of heart, 
The tears of deep contrition start, 
They drown the cruel demon, and behold he dies ; 
And Love Divine plants sweet forgiveness where 
he lies. 



129 



QUATRAINS 



HERE AND NOW 



WHAT is a ghost? " inquired a little child 
I gently pressed its trembling hand, 
And softly whispered, " You behold a ghost, 
And this bright world is spirit-land." 

PASSION 

Who tastes not Passion's burning cup, 
The wine of knowledge never drains; 

Like childhood's hours, his life is filled 
With infant's joys and infant's pains. 

THE USELESSNESS OF WRANGLING 

Men may argue, discuss, and contend 
About sects, and parties, and schools ; 

But a touch of sweet love in the world, 
Makes all the debaters seem fools. 

A SELFISH HEART 

How oft our trembling nerves we drug, 

Neglecting the disease ; 
The trouble is a selfish heart, 

That loves its own sweet ease. 
130 



Quatrains 131 

FRIENDSHIP 

Love burns the heart with ceaseless flame, 
But friendship, like the summer air, 

With scent of flowers from wood and field, 
Breathes gentle fragrance everywhere. 

CHOICE 

No fate compels the soul of man, 

To sorrow or rejoice; 
There is no fate in earth or heaven, 

But that of man's free choice. 

YOUTH AND AGE 

" Pleasure ! " cries Youth, " 't is pleasure I 
demand ; 

With eager lip the crystal cup I drain." 
Sighs weary Age, " I do remember well, 

And am content if quiet ease remain. ,, 

LIFE 

Inwoven wreaths of mist 

From the sea, blown 
To islands far remote, 

And lands unknown. 

CHURCH AND STATE 

Behold the wedding of the Church and State ! 

And lo, the bitter bridal of despair! 
The one doth justice barter to the priest, 

With gold the other chokes the mouth of 
Prayer. 



132 Quatrains 

THE INNER WORSHIP 

By too much incense the idol is obscured, — 
The pomp of worship blinds our feeble sight; 

The heavenly vision waits not our command, — 
The heart outweighs all holy word and rite. 

"how do cherries taste?" 

How do cherries taste? 

I cannot tell ; 
But the children know, 

And birds as well. 

WHY? 

Why should you die before you die? 

Cross bridges e'er you reach the stream? 
If life be as men say, a sleep, 

Sleep on sweet-heart, and dream your dream. 



AUF WIEDERSEHEN 

AND until then, brave soul, farewell; 
I cannot think that what befell 
Thy mortal frame must be the end 
Of thee, my best beloved friend. 
Yes, we shall meet again, or life 
Were but an idle, foolish strife, 
And death were what we most should prize. 
Both summer fields and winter skies, 
Repeat again : 

AUF WIEDERSEHEN 



133 



TRANSLATIONS 



Note: These Translations are, with a single exception 
("To the Husbandman"), selected from Flowers of Song 
from Many Lands, being a book of Translations by Dr. 
Marvin published in the year 1902. 



136 



THE SONG OF THE SPIRIT OVER THE 
WATERS 

Goethe 

THE soul of man 
Is like the water; 
From heaven it cometh, 
To heaven returneth — 
Ever and forever changing. 

From lofty rocky walls, 
Swift leaps the glowing flood; 
Then in the valley spreads it gently 
O'er the rocks in cloudy billows, — 
Billows ever kindly welcomed, — 
Veils its murmur as it wanders 
Downward to the waiting deep. 



Cliffs projecting 
Oft oppose it ; 
Angry, foaming, 
Downward moves it, 
Step by step. 



Now in smoother channels 
Through a flowery meadow winds it, 
Till, within the lake reflected, 
Gaze entranced the constellations. 



i37 



138 Song of the Spirit Over the Waters 

Wind is the loving 
Wooer of the waters; 
Wind together blendeth 
The all-foaming billows. 

Soul of man, 

How like the water 

Fate of man, 

How like the wind! 



THE BOUNDARIES OF HUMANITY 
Goethe 

WHEN the primeval Father, 
Changeless and holy, 
Sows in His bounty, 
With free hand and tranquil, 
From the rolling clouds, 
Joy-diffusing lightnings 
O'er the wide earth, 
Then the last hem of His garment 
I kiss with childlike awe and devotion— 
My heart is filled with His homage. 

For never against the immortals 
May a mortal 
Measure himself. 
If heavenward he soar 
And touch with his forehead 
The stars in their courses, 
His feet, insecure, 
Shall find no abiding; 
Clouds and tempest 
Shall sport with his weakness. 
139 



140 The Boundaries of Humanity 

With limbs firm and sinewy, 
Let him stand without tremor 
Upon the green earth enduring; 
Content to resemble the oak or the ivy. 

How shall we distinguish 
The gods from men? 
Before them the billows, 
An infinite stream, 
Roll onward forever; 
Us a wave raises, 
Us a wave swallows, 
And we vanish. 

A little rounded link 
Encircles our life; 
Yet generations of mortals 
Weld themselves firmly 
To the unending chain 
Of human existence. 



THE MASON'S LODGE 

Goethe 

THE mason's ways 
Are a symbol of life, 
And his toil 
Resembles the strife 
Of man on earth. 

The future hides 
Gladness and sorrow; 
Stepwise to the sight, 
Yet undaunted, 
Ever on we press. 

Heavy and heavier, 
With reverence, 
Hangs the veil. 
Silent above rest the stars- 
Silent below the graves ! 

Consider and behold; 
For, lo! there rise, 
In the breasts of heroes, 
Ever-changing awe 
And earnest feeling. 
141 



142 The Mason's Lodge 

From yonder call 

Voices of sages — 

Voices of masters: 

" Delay not to use 

The heritage of the good ! 

" Here are a weaving, 

In silence eternal, 

Crowns that with fulness 

Shall the active reward ! 

We command thee to hope ! " 



TO THE HUSBANDMAN 

Goethe 

SOWN are the golden seeds in the smooth 
furrow 
And cover'd from view; 
Deeper furrows some day shall thy bones conceal, 

And under one blue 
Of the heavens over-hanging, the ploughman 

Shall gather food for the living: 
Hope from even the tomb vanishes never, 
New life the furrows are giving. 



143 



THE EAGLE AND THE DOVE 
Goethe 

INTENT on prey, an eagle spread 
His pinions wide in air; 
When swift the huntsman's arrow flew, 
And headlong downward to a myrtle grove 
The daring voyager of the sky 
Fell panting, filled with anguish and despair; 
And when three days and nights were gone, 
Kind Nature's balm, that heals all hurts, 
His fainting strength restored. 
The bird outstretched his wing; — 
Alas ! there was no longer power for flight — 
He scarce himself could raise 
From off the hard, unyielding ground, 
To seize some mean, unworthy prey. 
With bursting heart, extended on a rock, 
Hard by the rushing of a mountain stream, 
Clear, sweet, and pure 
As are the blue o'er-bending heavens, 
With tearful eye he gazed through myrtle boughs,. 
To where two doves with soft and gentle flutter 

of contented wings 
Were resting from their humble flight; 

144 



The Eagle and the Dove 145 

With strut and nodding head 

They wandered by the golden sand and pebbly 
shore, 

Or bathed their feet within the silver tide. 

How full their red-tinged eyes with love ! 

How low and musical their cooing voice ! 

They paused — their vision fell 

Upon the stricken sovereign of the air, 

And, moved with pity, leaped the male, 

Complacent, on a nearer twig, and thus discoursed : 

"What sorrow fills thy breast? What grief be- 
dews thine eye? 

Take comfort and good cheer, my friend, 

For in this forest deep all rare delights are found. 

Hast thou not here such boundless joy 

As may all memories of the sky efface? 

Hast thou not gladness in the bending bough 

That fends thee from the sun's meridian heat? 

And canst thou not thy breast uplift 

Upon the fragrant moss, 

And mark the sun's declining ray? 

Here mayst thou wander through a world of 
flowers, 

And gather food from shrub and bush and tree, 

Or quench thy thirst at yonder bubbling spring. 

O friend, believe me this: 

'Tis sweet contentment fills the world with bliss — 

Be satisfied with that thou hast, 



146 The Eagle and the Dove 

And everywhere thou hast enough." 

Then spake the eagle as he sank in thought, 

" O wise one ! " — and he pondered what his ear 

had heard, — 
" O wisdom ! thou speakest like a dove ! " 



HUMANITY 

Kinkel 

UNNUMBERED years the hoary earth 
Her countless nations hath enrolled, 
And holocausts to gods hath raised 
From blood-red altars manifold. 

And years to come the raptured saint 

To God shall other altars rear, 
And sorrow still shall come and go, 

And joy the human heart shall cheer. 

It blinds me not! With love content, 
The ceaseless strife of Time I see; 

While changing empires rise and fall, 
Still onward moves Humanity. 

No day hath ever dawned, I know, 
That gladdened not one lonely breast ; 

Nor Spring hath followed Winter drear 
But with a song the world it blessed. 

From out the ruddy wine, I know, 
The vast, creative thoughts arise; 

And in a woman's loving kiss 
A noble fount of vigor lies. 
147 



148 Humanity 

Where'er we go, the heavens, I know, 
They frown with rage, or smile with joy 

In every zone the stars serene 

Some loving eye with faith employ. 

So day by day, and night by night, 

One thought doth every heart possess; 

Where'er on earth mine eyes are turned, 
A brother's loyal hand I press. 

A link of that great chain which binds 

The future to the past am I ; 
From out the struggling surge I snatch 

The jewel of Humanity. 






LILY AND ROSE 

Herder 

LILY of white innocence, and sweet red rose, 
a Two sisters side by side — alike 
And yet how different! 
O flower of purity and honor's crown, 
Thou need'st not leaves to shield thy form; 
A silent virtue wreath'd in fragrant beauty 
Guards thee well. 

But thou, O flower of passion, red, red rose, 
Young Cupid's blood thy veins distending, 
Thy heart so oft is pierced by love 
Thou needest thorns around thee. 



149 



THE PALM 

Heine 

DREAMS on the lonely height 
A pine tree clad in snow; 
Around it icy winds 

In wild confusion blow: — 

Dreams of a graceful palm 
In the far southern land, 

In silent solitude, 

Mid wastes of burning sand. 



150 



FAITH 

Victor Hugo 

BE like the little bird 
That for an instant stays 
Upon the topmost bough: 

The branch beneath him sways, 
But undisturbed he sings, 
All conscious of his wings. 



151 



THE WHISTLING DAUGHTER 

From the Dutch 

WHISTLE, my dearest daughter, and I will 
give thee a cow. 
Ah no! my beloved mother, I cannot whistle 
now — 

O I cannot whistle, 
Ah no ! my mouth it puckers so. 

Whistle, my charming daughter, and I will give 

thee a horse. 
Mother, I never whistled, and I could not now 

of course — 

O I cannot whistle, 
Ah no ! my mouth it puckers so. 

Whistle, my gentle daughter, and I will give thee 

a sheep. 
Mother, I cannot whistle, so the creature you may 

keep — 

O I cannot whistle, 
Ah no! my mouth it puckers so. 

Whistle, my lovely daughter, and I will give thee 

a man. 
Mother, I never whistled, but I know right well 

I can — 

Whistle! whistle! whistle! 
And so the whistling soon began. 

152 



SONG OF THE WANDERING KNIGHT 

From the Spanish 

MY ornaments are sword and spear, 
War is my pleasure near and far, 
My bed the cold green turf alone, 

My quenchless lamp yon trembling star. 

Long are my journeys through the day, 
Brief are my slumbers in the night; 

Thy spirit haunts me as I go; 
I kiss thy token with delight. 

From land to land I swiftly ride, 
And ever sail from sea to sea; 

And trust, fair lady, fate some day 
May bid these knightly lips kiss thee. 



i53 



ON MICHAEL ANGELO'S STATUE OF 
NIGHT 

LINES BY GIOVANNI STROZZI 

THOU seest the sleeping Night in grace 
reclining, 
An angel called her from the silent stone; 
She sleeps and therefore lives; if doubt there be, 
Awake her now — She speaks! and doubt is 
flown. 

ANSWER BY MICHAEL ANGELO 

'Tis sweet to sleep, but better far in stone, 
For since, unaltered, loss and shame remain, 

Unconscious darkness crowns supreme delight ; 
Speak low, I pray thee, wake me not to pain. 



i54 



CHRISTMAS CAROL 

From the Italian 

WHEN Christ in Bethlehem was born, 
The Winter night seemed rosy morn; 
So bright the stars men thought 'twas day — 
The world in golden beauty lay; 
And yet one star in splendor there, 
Than all the rest more heavenly fair, 
The Magi to the manger drew. 

Then holy peace o'er all the earth, 

Proclaimed the blessed Saviour's birth ; 

Together lamb and lion fed; 

Calf, wolf, and bear were gently led 

By little children ; leopards lay 

Beside the timid kids all day; 

There, fangless, basked the serpents too. 

As shepherds watched their flocks by night, 
Bright angels from the world of light, 
With music filled the trembling air, 
And God himself seemed everywhere. 
" Be not afraid," they cried, " for see! 
It is God's holy Jubilee, 
With peace on earth, good will to you!" 



155 



TO A FALSE LADY 

From the Italian 

*\ V 7HEN softly gathered twilight o'er the silent 

And out from darkness rose the first bright 

star, 
A gentle lady came my solitude to share. 
I seemed to know her; and she was so heav'nly 

fair 
That, gazing, I was hers; and near or far, 
To honor her, I followed where she went: and 

then — 
Ah well ! I only pray : " God give thee, when 
Thou art as I remain, the same sad plight 
With which thou didst unchanging love requite." 



156 



UNDER A WINGED CUPID 

Greek Anthology 

,r T^IS vain to haste when Love pursues, 

X He is so nimble and so fleet; 
He darts like lightning through the air, 
For he has wings, — thou, only feet. 



iS7 



THE PRAYER OF A PERSIAN 

UNTO the sinful evermore Thy boundless 
mercy show, 
For Thou didst bless the good, O Lord, 

when Thou didst make them so. 



158 



RENUNCIATION 

From the Sanscrit 

WHAT man doth once with all his heart 
renounce, 
By that no more he suffers pain; 
Anger and care, desire and discontent, 
His quiet soul assault in vain. 

He who hath slain the pride that saith, " 'T is 
mine," 

Nor whispers, " I am thus and so," 
Doth taste the deep repose Nirvana brings, 

And one to him are joy and woe. 



159 



THE HOUSE OF GOD 

From the Persian 

PRONE upon the earth, in prayer, the weary 
Nanac fell, 
Filled with all blessed thoughts of God; 
Turned toward the sacred Mecca were his dusty 
feet, 
And rested on the soft green sod. 
When, lo! there passed a saintly Moslem priest 
that way, 
And cried, " Base unbeliever, dost thou dare to 
pray, 
Thy graceless feet extended toward God's city 
fair?" 
But Nanac thus made answer, " Is not every- 
where 
God's city? Find, if thou canst, the accursed 
spot 
Where, crowned with deathless praise, His holy 
house is not ! " 



160 



THE CHOICE OF FRIENDS 

Saadi 

ONE balmy day in gentle June, 
While sporting in my bath so free, 
In came a friend with perfumed clay, 
And gave the fragrant mass to me. 

Art thou of musk or ambergris? 

Thou art like both: I cannot tell 
Whence comes the charm, but this I know, 

I am delighted with thy smell. 

" I was a piece of worthless clay 
Until the blooming rose I knew; 

For by its side I drank delight, 

And drank its heavenly fragrance too. 

" But for that rose I should be still 
Mere worthless clay for idle ends; 

Learn well the lesson I impart — 

Be careful in your choice of friends." 



161 



IMMORTAL YOUTH 

Khushhal Khan of the Afghan Tribe of Khattak 

MY two-and-sixty years are flown, 
Swift years of sorrow and delight, 
And now my hair, no longer black, 
Is turned at last a silvery white; 
But ah, my heart still young remains, 
Unchanged by fortune foul or fair; 
And spite of frost and snow, I see 
The golden Summer everywhere. 



162 



A MOTHER'S LAMENT FOR HER 
DROWNED SON 

From the Greenlandic 

ALAS, alas thine empty seat, my son! 
Vainly thy garments I did toil to dry. 
Thy mother's joy is clouded o'er with grief, 
And darkness veils the lonely sky. 

How oft I watched with straining eye for thee, 
And saw thee rowing swiftly o'er the wave; 

Wiser than all thy race, my noble boy, 
And than the bravest still more brave. 

Never with empty hand didst thou return, 

But now I mourn thine empty hand and place; 

Alas, how useless seems the world to me, 
Since I no more behold thy face! 

Friends, could I weep as ye are weeping now, 
It were some comfort to my breaking heart; 

The fever burns my brow, my sight is dim, 
The anguish is too deep for tears to start. 

Death, death alone can now be good to me; 

Life is a loathsome thing, and I would go, 
Far, far away from Greenland's rocky coast, 

Its icy waves and fields of sparkling snow. 
163 



164 A Mother's Lament for Drowned Son 

Take me, sweet Death, to thy divine embrace, 
Seal with deep slumber every aching sense; 

The world is empty and the stars are dust, 
They hold no love for me. I would go hence. 



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